Page 125 of Ruthless Creatures
“I don’t think he’s holding a torch.”
“Pfft. His torch is so big he could light the whole town on fire with it.”
“Whatever the case, Kage said he’d take care of it, so.”
“So we should expect to see Chris’s obituary in the newspaper soon.”
“No! I told Kage not to hurt him!”
She shakes her head, as if she’s deeply disappointed in me. “If I had my own personal assassin, I’d give him a list of people to kill as long as my arm.”
Assassin.
I’m taken aback by that word. The memory of Chris yelling at me that Kage’s nickname is Reaper surfaces, as does the image of that red-eyed, hooded skeleton with a scythe.
Hands trembling, I down my glass of wine. It’s impossible for me to reconcile the Kage I know—passionate, tender, full of heat and heart—to the man who runs the Russian mafia.
Runs it in his boss’s absence, anyway.
Sloane notices the look on my face. “Babe, you just went white.”
“I’m still trying to adjust to my new normal.”
“Love’s a bitch, which is why I’ll never have anything to do with it.”
“Life has a funny way of making you eat your words, girlfriend.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “There’s not a man on this planet who could make me fall in love with him. Trust me, I’ve got a lot of experience in that department.”
“Oh, I know. I also know your match is out there somewhere. You just haven’t met him yet. But when you do, I’ll be the first to rub it in your face.”
She laughs at me, clearly disbelieving. Digging into her pocket for her cell, she says, “Good luck with that. In the meantime, let me show you this pic of the hottie I met on the way over here.”
She shows me her phone. The screen displays a picture of a grinning, tanned blond guy who looks exactly like a young Brad Pitt, sitting in what appears to be the back seat of a sedan.
“On the way over? What did you do, flag him down on the side of the road?”
“Uber ride share. He’s taking me to dinner tomorrow night.”
I chuckle, partly in admiration and partly in disbelief. “You don’t even let the bodies get cold before you move on to the next one.”
She turns the camera back so she can see the screen and smiles at it. “I’ve got a number in my head I want to hit so I can write about it in my autobiography. It’ll be a bestseller. People love to live vicariously through books.”
“What does this one do for a living?”
“Who cares? Did you see those dimples? I’d like to jump into those babies and drown.”
“Sloane?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to be you when I grow up.”
She smiles and sends me a wink. “Get in line.”
Just then, Mojo lifts his head from Sloane’s foot and looks toward the dark window over my kitchen sink.
His ears prick.
